


Remissionem - Forgiveness

by panda_shi



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Confusion, Death, M/M, Post-War, Pyschological, Tearjerker, Thriller, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-20 15:22:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4792547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panda_shi/pseuds/panda_shi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grief has five stages and if one must overcome their grief, they must pass all stages. But sometimes, no matter how much of a good soldier you try to be, one never truly makes it through all give.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Denial and Isolation

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to [Anime - Betrayal](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4621146)

_I am a good soldier._

Iruka repeats the words once more to himself just as the last child from his class files out of the classroom.  He does not realize that it is sunset already when he looks up from the student roster he’s been staring at for a long time. The clock reads six-fifteen, that child would have left almost two hours ago. Iruka sighs, pushing himself off the chair to gather his belongings and begin his shift at the mission table.

Time is like that for Iruka, compressed and warped. Time also did not seem to matter. It’s been like that since the funeral, and even then, Iruka vaguely remembers that it had been sunny, as if the gods themselves had chosen to mock the death of the man. It had been scorching hot too, right at the peak of summer and Iruka remembers standing by the headstone, watching the last of the incense sticks burn and the rows and rows of flower bouquets bake under the heat.

Iruka had burnt himself standing there, like it had been a punishment, as if a noose had been around his neck. He has watched as the flowers dried in less than a few hours, had watched his shadow shift as the sun in the sky changed directions.

Iruka does not remember anything else from that day, not the words, not the prayers, not the fancy speeches or how Naruto had been trying to keep a straight face. He remembers nothing except for the flowers. The tulips had looked wilted and dried, scrunched and hanging from their cellophane wrappers. He remembers how the petals had crinkled and remembers thinking that night, when he stood in his empty apartment, in front of the bathroom mirror examining the sun burn on his chest and back, the slight peeling around his forehead that the burns had resembled those dying flowers. Iruka had found himself wondering then, if there had been something symbolic about the dying flowers under the scorching sun, if that had been some sort of foresight for what his life is about to be like.

If one can even call it a life.

(You don’t deserve a life.)

The word schedule seems to be a better fitting term.

Iruka’s simple schedule goes like this:

He wakes up before dawn and steps out into the woods to do his daily run. He will dedicate another hour to go through his katas after his run and on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, he would go through the obstacle course that is open for use to any shinobi who wished to practice in solitude.  

At roughly seven in the morning, Iruka would be leaving his apartment to head to the Academy, where he would then start to prep for the day. He will have his first morning coffee at his desk, while distributing worksheets for each student and roll the window open to let the air in. Iruka skips lunch in favor of grading worksheets, or to stand as watch in the playground during Tuesdays and Thursdays; on those days, Iruka finds comfort in one of the swings, where he has full vantage point of the entire playground. During his playground supervision days, he too skips lunch. At four, the kids are sent home and Iruka is left to his devices, where he should be spending the next two hours either grading papers or preparing lesson plans for the next day. At six, Iruka will relocate himself to the mission room where he covers the evening shift during the summer until ten in the evening. He would have a cup of tea beside him, serve either a busy evening or a dry evening, and then head home to have dinner. By eleven, he is in bed and he reminds himself over and over again until sleep comes, I am a good soldier.

Then the cycle restarts itself.

This is Iruka’s ideal schedule.

But a week after the funeral, discrepancies happen and Iruka notices time missing and he finds himself, much like that very evening itself, examining the space around him, looking through the classroom, through his papers only to realize that he hasn’t moved from the same spot. Iruka realizes that something happens in those short moments of warped time, where his mind seems to just blank out. He remembers no thought, no memory, remembers no movement or anything else.

He just pauses.

Much like the rest of his life from where it had come to standstill the moment the council and Godaime had delivered their orders to him.

But this is your life now, Iruka reminds himself, appeasing his very quiet mind that this is indeed a life, a way of living, as he sets his cup of tea that he doesn’t drink beside him and caters to Jounins, Chuunins and Genins making their report drop off in the evening. This how it will be from now on and as long as you keep doing what you are tasked to do, you are good soldier.

The smile is bright, his thanks for all their hard work heartfelt as time ticks by.

_I am a good soldier._

(You have nothing else to be but a good soldier.)

-

It is almost a month after the funeral that an ANBU appears in the middle of his classroom, shadow looming over him as he corrects the pop quiz he had given that afternoon. He doesn’t know how long the ANBU has been standing there for, or how long prior to having made his or her presence known he or she has been standing there for. Iruka does and will not care. He had kept his head down, red pen swiftly making marks on the stack of quizzes before him.

An average Chuunin getting an ANBU visit usually means that special instructions had been dispatched.

For someone like Iruka, well, getting a visit from ANBU has _never_ been a sign of good omen.

“Can I help you?” Iruka says, as he set aside the last quiz, a good half an hour later and deems it necessary to crane his head up to look at the shadow looming over him.

The ANBU says nothing and instead reaches up with a clawed glove to tug his mask down. Iruka finds himself staring at Tenzou’s face; there seems to be more expression there than normal. Or at least from what little Iruka can remember. Iruka’s interaction with Tenzou had been very limited.

Iruka can see the lines between Tenzou brows, the gentle pull around the corner of his lips that makes him look like he’s frowning, but not entirely. If Tenzou had been trying to keep a straight face, or even a blank face for that matter, Iruka can see how visibly that is failing.

“I’ve come to make a delivery.” Tenzou says, a solid minute later because he is observing Iruka without his mask obscuring his vision.

Iruka knows what Tenzou sees: he sees a far more slender teacher, with dark circles under his eyes and wrists that seems far too delicate to belong to a man. He will see dried lips and dull hair, cracking fingernails and all the tell-tale signs of someone who skips meals too frequently. Maybe Tenzou too, will notice how the uniform hangs on Iruka’s shoulders as opposed to it fitting just right. But Tenzou also sees a pleasant face, eyes wide open but also shut and hidden from the world, something that betrays no secret nor emotion. What Tenzou sees is what a good soldier is, in all its text book definition.

Tenzou sees nothing.

Are they turning their best men into errand boys now, Iruka wants to ask and he may have felt amusement or pity, it is hard to tell when he simply stares back at a pair of dark concerned eyes. You shouldn’t be concerned, after all, you are simply following orders like a dog.

“Oh?” Iruka says instead, because responding to something that seems personal, or to respond at all, especially when emotions are involved, is not the way of a good soldier.

After all, just because Tenzou finds it convenient to break the code of conduct by unmasking himself in front of unauthorized personnel, it doesn’t mean that Iruka would stoop to Tenzou’s level and break his own code of conduct. He had rules to follow and one does not engage in an open conversation with ANBU unless that ANBU engages first.

Tenzou places a thick manila envelope on Iruka’s desk, sealed and addressed to him. It’s the standard issue the administrative sector uses, nothing fancy. Iruka pulls out a letter opener from his drawer, makes a clean slice on one side and pulls the content out. There are four folders, two of which are property contracts and land ownership document and the other are bank documents. The last folder is a copy of a will that had Kakashi’s signature.

Iruka feels time warp around him again, like he is being pulled back into a vacuum and he’s losing feeling around his fingers and toes as he leafs through the pages of the will, not really seeing what is written, just making note of Kakashi’s signature. He feels the sky above him just expand and it is the weight of the hand on his shoulder that makes him look up from where he had been staring at Kakashi’s name, printed on fine block letters on glossy paper, to look up at Tenzou. Iruka does not remember closing the folder.

Tenzou is wearing too much of an expression. It is unfit for someone of his station.

“Thank you.” Iruka says, and stacks the folders neatly before him. “Is there anything else I can assist you with?”

Tenzou is quiet for a moment and retracts his hand from Iruka’s shoulder. Iruka takes the opportunity to carefully ease the folders back into the envelope.

“Sensei – “

“If there is nothing more you need of me, if you don’t mind ANBU-san, I have a lot of to finish before my shift at the mission room begins.” Iruka turns to look at Tenzou again, folding his hands over the envelope, the pleasant expression back on his face.

“No, Sensei, that is all.”

“Thank you for all your hard work, ANBU-san.” Iruka says and dips his head. “I wish you a pleasant evening.”

The cast of Tenzou’s shadow, Iruka notes, does not leave him immediately. After Iruka tucks the envelope into his satchel and he pulls the stack of homework that had been sitting at the corner of his desk towards him, a few papers into grading it, the shadow disappears and is instead, replaced by the shadows of the student benches.

Iruka doesn’t get to finish marking his children’s homework.

He finds himself, instead staring at the tip of his red pen.

-

It is nearly four weeks later, two months and three days since Kakashi’s passing at the hospital that Iruka finds himself due to pay his rent. In the middle of his search for a pen around his study because this particular landlord prefers cheques to cash, Iruka finds himself throwing open on of the drawers and staring right at the manila envelope Tenzou had personally delivered to him almost a month ago. Iruka had not looked at it since, and had blindly stuffed the envelope into his study drawer where it had laid there all this time, forgotten.

Right on top of the envelope is the pen he’s been looking for.

In a slightly fit of irritation, Iruka grabs the pen stalks for the kitchen where his cheque book lies open, jotting down the amount he needs to pay his landlord. He doesn’t know why he looks from where he is signing the cheque, why he finds himself staring at the open drawer, right down the hallway where Kakashi’s documents lay in the confines of a drawer he barely even uses. Iruka doesn’t know how long he’s been staring at the drawer until he hears the pen clatter to the ground he’s moving again, picking up the pen and shutting his cheque book sharply.

Reviewing the papers means Iruka would have to come to terms with the fact that Kakashi is truly gone. But then again, perhaps the reason Tenzou had dropped the papers over in the first place is because there are some official bureaucracy that needs to happen in order to fully put things to rest. Maybe Kakashi had fined a lawsuit against him in his absence, maybe Kakashi had left some unfinished business and he had expected Iruka to complete it in his absence. The possibilities are endless and it is because of those possibilities that Iruka finds himself pulling the manila envelope out of its drawer and empty its contents on the floor like a child throwing a tantrum.

The folders drop and lie haphazardly all over the rug, Iruka knees following them to the floor. He opens the first folder, and sees that it is the title deed to Kakashi’s old apartment; Seven hundred fifty square feet of space, with a connecting bathroom and closed kitchen. Leafing through the pages tells Iruka of the contents of the apartment, an old television, books, furniture even down to the last tea spoon in Kakashi’s kitchen drawer. Kakashi had left every single one of them in Iruka’s ownership.

Kakashi’s apartment goes to one side.

Iruka picks up the second folder and this one is Kakashi’s bank accounts. Compared to the others, this one isn’t as thick because they are only a few pages with the current balance. There is a letter from the bank, declaring that all the accounts are to be transferred to Umino Iruka’s ownership once proof of the deceased has been filed. Judging from the state of the papers, Kakashi’s death certificate has reached the bank and his entire life’s savings now belongs to Umino Iruka. Every single penny.

Kakashi’s savings go to the side.

The third one is a title deed to a chunk of land. Iruka doesn’t need to go through the papers to know where this land is located. He only had to look at the map, at boundary markers on said map and just to make sure he truly is looking at what he thinks is looking, Iruka checks the coordinates too. Iruka knows this land, if only because he and Kakashi had shown it to him, had brought him there almost two years ago when all the leaves had been golden and red and they had laid on a blanket with their bellies full of picnic food counting the stars.

“What if we lived here?” Kakashi had asked.

Iruka had laughed at him then, “Well, we can’t live here, this isn’t exactly a residential area.”

“But what if?”

Iruka remembers Kakashi moving to loom over him, obscuring his view of the sky, elbows on either side of his head. Iruka can still remember Kakashi’s face then, how he had looked so handsome with the moonlight behind him, how he had been lazy that particular week to shave and the stubble had gotten a little thicker than normal. Iruka can still remember how he had reached up to press his fingers against the scar that had been hidden by that stubble, and how he had smiled at Kakashi and answered with sincerity, “Then it is the home we’ll grow old in together.”

Iruka remembers the smile.

And the kiss that had followed.

Now that piece land belongs to him.

Iruka finds himself staring off at the clock on his wall, watching the seconds tick by and the clicking noise of the rotating hand suddenly turning into a focal point. Each tick gets louder until it is the only thing he can hear because, why did he leave it to me? What was he thinking? Or was he thinking at all?

(You knew that he would have given you the world if he could.)

The doorbell rings.

And when Iruka blinks, the clock reads nine twenty-five when Iruka remembers just seconds ago, it had read seven thirty-two. Iruka feels a flare of irritation swell in his chest as he dumps the folder down on the carpet a little too sharply that some of the pages crumple.

The person standing outside his door is someone Iruka had not expected to see in a while.

“Hey, Naruto.”

“Hey, Iruka-sensei. You busy or something?”

I am, is what Iruka wants to say but what comes out instead is, “No. Come on in.”

“I was wondering if you feel like coming out to dinner with me or something. I mean, if you haven’t had dinner yet. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

Iruka studies Naruto quietly, watching him close the door to his apartment come to stand in the middle of his living room, where the folders lay in a mess on the carpet along with a few of Iruka’s papers. Iruka watches Naruto look around the house that is usually organized, to find a few things out of place. Iruka knows that Naruto can see how the pictures that usually decorate the center table is not present, how everything is black and white, basic, simple, impersonal. Iruka knows that Naruto can notice how there are dishes in the sink, or how there are two cans of energy drinks on the coffee table that are dry and empty. Naruto can probably notice the two day old mug that had once been filled with tea sitting by the window, forgotten.

Iruka also sees how Naruto looks at him worriedly, confusedly.

Get the hell out, Iruka wants to say. “I’m sorry Naruto, I already ate and I’m still quite full. I just threw out the last of the leftover container. Maybe next time. What is it you want to talk to me about though? I can put on some tea.”

Because Iruka didn’t want to step out of his apartment. Iruka didn’t want to see people. Iruka didn’t want to share a meal with anyone. He has spent the past several weeks since the burial doing exactly that, only stepping out when necessary, _because I am a good soldier_ , and had a job to do. Iruka has lost count of all the birthdays, and gatherings and dinner dates with friends and people who had shown open interest towards him. He ha turned it all down. He just wants to be left alone.

“Sure. Tea is fine.” Naruto takes a seat on the couch and doesn’t move from his spot.

Iruka gives Naruto his back as he fusses with the teapot and tea. From the reflection of the kitchen window, he can see how Naruto is staring at the pile of folders on the ground.

“Did you just get back from a mission?” Iruka asks, because Iruka-sensei, the good soldier, always asks about the well being of his students, current and former.

“I’m going to be the Hokage come next year. The ceremony will be in January.”

Iruka gives a soft laugh-snort; that is something that has been in the pipelines for a long time. Iruka is genuinely surprised it had taken this long to finalize. “Well it’s about damn time. Congratulations!”

“I’m also getting married.”

That makes Iruka look up sharply and he finds Naruto looking at him from the living room. From the reflection of the window, Iruka can see how serious Naruto’s face is, how his focus on Iruka is sharp, like he’s gauging through every single fiber in Iruka’s being.

“To who?” Iruka asks, and the question is out before he can stop it. Iruka can see how Naruto looks genuinely surprised at the question.

“Hinata-chan, of course! Who else?”

Iruka doesn’t remember turning, doesn’t even remember when he had moved form the kitchen counter to stand in front of Naruto, who is looking up at him from where he is sitting on the couch. “The council and Godaime allowed you to marry her?”

Naruto’s eyebrows pinch together and something sharp appears in his gaze, like he’s found what he’s looking for. Iruka pays it no attention.

“Why wouldn’t they?”

Why wouldn’t they indeed.

(You are expendable.)

There is a sound that leaves Iruka’s throat then, something that sounds like laugh and a choke, like broken mic in a child’s doll that has been stepped on too much, or thrown aside too much that it damages the little device within. What must have once upon time sounded like warm laughter now sounds hollow, broken and _that is just so fucking typical of them, isn’t it? Of course they said yes to you, you’re Uzumaki Naruto. Saviour of the village. Anyone else who remotely sacrificed anything in the name of the village means nothing to them. But you, oh you get to have it all, don’t you?_

Iruka covers his mouth with hand, as if to silence the strange and eerie laugh and that is when he catches himself and dips his head because there is bitterness is his eyes, thick and hot and salty. He blinks them away and when he looks up, Naruto is already on his feet.

The smile on Iruka’s face is suddenly warm and pleasant, like a switch has been flicked on, _because I am good fucking soldier and I am going to serve this goddamn village to my last fucking breath._

“Wow, Naruto.” Iruka says, voice thick and like a pro he works Naruto like a fiddle. Iruka’s dimples hollow and he reaches out to take Naruto by the shoulders. “I can’t believe you just said that. I’m so happy for you -- congratulations! Look at you, talking about marriage!”

The hysteric tinge to Iruka’s voice seems to work well because Naruto’s cheeks burn as bright spring plums and he has no idea how Iruka feels like his stomach is being eroded by burning, hot acid. Naruto has no idea how the tears in Iruka’s eyes aren’t for him and his success to the Hokage title and his soon to be marriage. They were hateful tears, detesting tears, bitter and disgusted.

But most of all, they are tears filled with a hurt so indescribable that Iruka finds it hard to breathe.

And Naruto will never know.

Just like no one will ever know how Hatake Kakashi’s death had come from no other than a mere Chuunin who simply teaches at the Academy. A mere nobody.

“You’re going to come right? To the wedding?”

“Of course! Of course I will! I wouldn’t miss it for the world! Did you and Hinata decide on a date yet?”

“Next month. Hinata-chan’s aunt said something about some constellation -- ahh, I don’t know but yeah it’ll be next month. Iruka-sensei, I came here to ask you if you could -- uhmm, well, kind of like be there coz’ you know, my dad isn’t…”

Iruka knows that deep in his heart, it isn’t Naruto that he hates but simply the circumstances that has put him in this position and for a brief second, the smile on Iruka’s face turns genuine. There is flicker of a light that shines through just for a moment, long enough for Iruka to agree and tell Naruto that he would not miss for the world, that it would be his greatest honor. And for that brief moment, when Naruto embraces him and watches the brightness shine in the eyes of his teacher, for just that second, it seems like time too had stopped.

But like all things that burn too brightly, they also die out too quickly.

Iruka doesn’t know when Naruto had left his apartment, he doesn’t know when they had finished having tea or when the mess of folders on the floor had been tucked away into Iruka’s drawer. Iruka doesn’t even know why he is standing by the kitchen counter again, pen in his hand and cheque book open and writing his cheque for his landlord without looking while staring at the clock.

It is two thirty in the morning.

TBC


	2. Anger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate this chapter. This chapter sucks.

The wedding ceremony is a grand affair and Hinata is easily the most beautiful bride Iruka has ever seen in his entire life. And Naruto had stood there, as Hinata approached him, a true vision to behold, looking like the luckiest man alive. Iruka thinks in that brief moment, when Naruto had looked so devoted as he gazed upon his soon to be wife, that Naruto had looked his most handsome.

(Kakashi too had looked handsome, when he looked at you in those quiet moments when nothing else existed other than the two of you. Remember how his eyes glittered then? How the hard lines of his face softened to something so beautiful and you knew, right then that he was all yours just like how you were all his?)

Iruka finds that the smile on his lips, as the ceremony wraps is real, because all things aside, he is happy for Naruto. He is happy that he gets to grow old with his wife. He is happy to know that ahead of Naruto is a bright future indeed. The thought of Naruto being a father softens the smile on his lips and when Naruto meets his gaze, across the crowd who had come to hug him and give him their congratulations, Iruka finds himself nodding, as if to say, I’m so proud of you.

The smile stiffens however, when beyond Naruto’s head, there is a pair of hazel eyes looking right at him. For a moment then, time stops again and Iruka forgets that he is in a place where everyone is watching everyone, because in grand weddings, that is what people do. He forgets about what happens around him and in those brief few seconds, the world hushes down to a silence that only leaves a ringing and resonating pitch inside Iruka’s head. He watches as Tsunade keeps her face straight, watches as her ruby red lips, and her beautiful face melts to a sad smile.

And in that moment, Iruka feels something crack.

He blinks in her direction and turns to leave.

The ceremony is over and it had been stiff and formal, much like anything a Hyuuga organizes. Iruka does not look behind him where he can feel eyes drilling into the back of his head. Doesn’t wait for anyone as he heads straight into the address of the reception, where that part of the wedding, is most definitely, all Naruto.

It had been easy to steer clear of people at the reception, where things had been less stiff.

Steering clear of people in the After Party is even easier. Because the After Party had Naruto, Kiba and Lee’s name  all over the place. Music, food, drinks, lights – the After Party is a riot. And while the elders had chosen to steer clear of such ‘things’, most, if not all, are partying like it’s the last day on earth. Iruka has no plans to linger for too long because he is tired, he has done his part and he feels out of place amongst people who are at least ten years younger than him.

Iruka had stepped out of the party hall to get some air, standing there in his stiff and starched suit and looking up at the clear night sky. It is bright that night, as if the heavens themselves had decided to open up to watch Naruto’s wedding. Iruka suddenly remembers the countless nights where he and Kakashi had gazed upon a sky much like this one, sharing a bottle of shochu or sake together and talking about their day.

“Iruka-sensei, shouldn’t you be inside?”

Iruka turns to look up to find Gai, beaming and flashing all his teeth. “Shouldn’t you?” Iruka counters, returning the smile that does not quite reach his eyes.

“I haven’t seen you since the funeral, I thought I’d come accompany you for a moment. It is a most youthful event, don’t you agree?”

“Readily so. I needed some air. I hardly recognize any of the music playing.”

Iruka is watching Naruto from beyond the glass, or at least he is watching Naruto’s head that is surrounded by a sea of other heads on the dance floor. He can barely recognize Hinata from the ornamental headpiece on her hair but the kids – because to Iruka, they will always be kids – are all looking like they are having the time of their lives. As they should be.

“Kakashi would have been happy to see this.” Gai chuckles, taking a sip of his drink.

The sentence leaves Iruka stiff and his legs weak because yes, Kakashi would have loved this. Maybe not the stiffness of the entire ordeal, or the loud music, or maybe even the formality of it, but yes, Kakashi would have loved to watch Naruto smile at his wife. He would have loved to see Naruto recite the vows and Hinata reciprocate it. He would have loved to watch Naruto panic over the state of his shoes, or the collar of his shirt. At the same time, Kakashi would have dodged the crowd like a plague, would have been stiff in his formal clothes, would have felt a little embarrassed if he had been prompted to give a speech.

“Yes,” Iruka agrees. “He should be here. Not burnt with his ashes scattered.”

Iruka does not need to turn to see how Gai is looking at him quietly.

“He died like any honorable shinobi, serving his village.” Gai says, and it sounds almost robotic, almost staged as if Gai had stood in front of a mirror and repeated the sentence over and over again until it had become his truth.

Iruka’s laugh is loud, hollow and outrageously mocking.

“Of course.” Iruka says, reaching up and wiping the tears of mirth off the corner of his eyes. “Of course, he did.” Iruka places his empty glass on the bannister of the balcony,  suddenly feeling something expand in his chest. Something that is making his blood race and his heart thunder so loudly that the sound of music is drowned out. Iruka suddenly feels sick.“It was good seeing you Gai-san.”

“Are you leaving so soon, Iruka-sensei?”

Iruka doesn’t answer and is instead pushing through the crowd, desperate to get away from all of this celebratory things that Kakashi should be a part of but can’t. The crowd is making his head spin and he collides painfully against someone and automatically, upon reflex reaches out to steady that person only to realize that he is holding Tsunade by the arm.

“Iruka!” She sounds surprised.

Iruka does not respond.

His grip on her arm tightens for a brief moment and he sees how the corner of her right eye pinches, and then he’s letting go and pushing past her and the rest of the crowd until he sees the door, pulls it open and steps outside into the empty halls. He pulls the door shut behind him and leans against it heavily. And right there, where it is quieter, cooler and Iruka has all the open space to himself, he finds himself staring at his hands.

Iruka’s hand are shaking. He balls them into fists to stop the shakes but it does not stop. Iruka hears himself swear, hears the word fuck roll out of his tongue, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck and fuck, his hands refuses to calm down.

So before anyone can see him, Iruka does the next best thing.

Iruka runs.

 

\--

 

When Iruka stops running, trying to catch his breath and he realizes where he is standing, he feels like there is no ground beneath his feet.

Before him is a garden, decorated with a pebble stone pathway that leads to a koi pond. Under the moonlight, the scales of the koi reflect and cast brief flickers of gold and silver on the rocks that surround the pond. There is a sycamore tree on one side, large with wide branches that looks like it is reach for the sky, embracing the cool autumn air. The entire property is surrounded by a boundary wall that is painted white, the entrance is made of varnished wood.

Years ago, Iruka remembers the property having nothing but the bare bone skeletal structure of what now stands as a completed house. Two storeys tall, with a large patio and a kitchen that opens up to the view of the pond.

Kakashi had completed the house.

Down to the last rock in the garden.

Iruka finds himself standing inside the living room and he flicks the light switch on only to feel as if fingers had grabbed him by the throat.

The couch is a soft beige, with a green blanket thrown over one arm. There is a coffee table and a mounted screen on the wall, and while all the flat surfaces of the living room is covered in dust, it still matches everything that he and Kakashi had talked about for years.

Their dream house.  

Visible foot prints is left in his wake, as Iruka enters the kitchen and flicks the light switch on. There are pictures on the fridge, of him and Kakashi. One of the photos Iruka remembers taking when they had first received a digital camera. It had been a birthday present to Iruka from the Academy colleagues and Iruka remembers coming home to Kakashi that night in their shared apartment, excited to try it out. Kakashi had tried to dodge him and the picture had resulted in Iruka laughing against Kakashi’s cheek as Kakashi tries to keep his mask tugged up, a barely visible pink flush on his cheeks.

Iruka remembers how warm those cheeks had been, under his palms when he had kissed him after snapping the photo.

When Iruka opens one of the cupboards, he finds an entire set of fine china, in dark browns with the interiors glazed in orange. He remembers seeing this in the market one night, when he and Kakashi had been walking home from the Administration office, and Iruka had said then, “That is going to be our dining set!”

“But it’s orange.” Kakashi had replied, almost purposefully whiny.

“It is elegant.” Iruka had countered.

Iruka finds his hands are starting to shake and the clap of the cupboard slamming shut reverberates throughout the house, echoing down the hallway and bouncing off he walls. When he opens another cupboard, Iruka sees all of his favorite tea leaves and a packet of Kakashi’s favorite coffee roast stacked neatly.

The cupboard nearly comes off its hinges when Iruka slams it shut.

His footsteps are loud when he storms down the hallway, all the way up to the bedroom to find the bed made, with soft white cotton sheets. The body pillow that Iruka remembers wanting is also on the bed on the right handside corner, right by the window, because Iruka always picks the bed side with the window. The bathroom shows the same story, and Iruka barely suppresses the urge to scream when he sees even his favorite bottle of shampoo sitting on one of the racks.

But it is the one photograph, amongst the many in the bedroom that makes time comes to a complete halt.

It is the picture of him and Kakashi, facing the camera and in the background, the dogs are looking into the lens and if one examines the picture closer, there is a picnic basket and a mat in the the far corner of the photograph. They are standing in front of the sycamore tree by an empty pond. It is a little before sunset in the picture, and Iruka remembers that day like it had been yesterday. It had been a Friday and Kakashi had surprised after his shift at the Academy, saying that he has some food packed for them and that Iruka had to come with him real quick because they had to go somewhere.

And then Kakashi had shown him the tree and the beginnings of the construction work.

Iruka remembers being speechless.

Iruka remembers crying and laughing at the same time.

The photograph is yanked off the table and hurled right across the bedroom where it goes through the glass of the window and outside into the garden.

Iruka grabs another photo, the one of them in Naruto’s birthday and that too ends up across the room.

He grabs another and another, and the sound of glass shattering, of plastic and wood falling to pieces is drowned out by the loud scream of rage that claws itself out of Iruka’s throat. The very scream that’s been wanting to come out from the moment Kakashi’s ashes had been set free. The rage is hot, and unbidden, just like the flare of an unbridled killing intent that flies in all direction. iruka goes through the bedroom in a rampage, screaming and screaming and screaming until he is grabbing the last photograph, the one that has him flushing and smiling almost candidly at the camera, the one that Kakashi had snapped of him that one time during the spring festival where Iruka had been wearing the red yukata Kakashi had brought home for him.

Iruka doesn’t realize how he’s staring at the past, at a time where he had been so happy.

So, so happy.

Iruka feels the jolt of the ground when his knees loses all feeling and he’s on the floor, slamming the photograph of himself so hard against the wooden floor over and over and over again, until he he is holding the soft glossy photo paper.

Then suddenly, he can’t bring his hand to rip it to shreds, to destroy that memory of where he had been happy, because he had Kakashi in his life.

Because Kakashi had been his other half.

Kakashi had completed him.

Kakashi had made him _whole._

Iruka looks up to find an ANBU looking down at him, a black shadow in the dim light of the bedroom. Iruka does not recognize the mask looking down at him, if it is a Wolf or a Hound or a fucking Dog. He has never seen  that mask before, not even during those times when he had been escorted to Sand during his reassignment or when he had been brought back to witness his life just slip right between his fingers.

The rage and killing intent explodes.

“What are you doing here?” Iruka howls, getting on his feet and yanking his wrist free from the ANBU’s hold. “Who sent you? Did she send you! How dare you come here! How dare you!”

The ANBU does not answer. It only stands there, hands by its sides, like some sort of sentinel, watching Iruka’s sanity come apart and slip out of its tight and controlled confines.

“Get the hell out! This is no place for things like you! You are not welcome here! You go back to your leader and tell her, tell them to leave me the fuck alone! Get out! Get out! Of my house!”

Iruka shatters then, into a million pieces, when he admits out loud that the house Kakashi had spent the rest of his days perfecting is his too. Because Iruka knows that Kakashi had been listening that entire time Iruka had talked to him, had held on to his every word, listened to every detail and brought it to reality.

It’s my house, Iruka wants to say but could not because he can’t feel anything, save for the gaping hole in his chest that is spreading and spreading, swallowing him whole like a vaccuum and turning him to nothing. He can’t stop the shakes when he brings the picture that he had wanted to tear to pieces to his chest, knuckles turning white when he grips it too tightly and crumpling the image of him looking so happy. Because the picture in his shaking hands had meant something to Kakashi.  There had been a time when they were going through the pictures together over tea, Iruka remembers asking him, _Which one is your favorite?_

And Kakashi had hummed in thought, pressing the forward button and then stopping at that very picture, a soft warm expression in his eyes as he looked down at the picture with so much fondness and so much devotion, _This one._

“Get out!” Iruka screams.

The presence vanishes.

And then Iruka rips the photo in half.

 

\--

 

When Iruka opens his eyes, he finds himself staring at the dusty floor underneath the bed that Kakashi had purchased for the bedroom. Iruka does not know why he is on the floor or how he had come to lie in the position he is in. He feels sore and stiff from lying in an awkward position, like he’s been beaten down and moving hurts. When he tries to shift from his curled position, Iruka feels a moan leave him and for a moment he shuts his eyes painfully, so he can measure his breath and try to brace himself to undo the kinks in his body that he has spectacularly managed to give himself.

Iruka opens his eyes and suddenly sees a pair of boots on the other side of the bed and he bolts up off the floor so fast to look at the room only to find no one there.

Iruka stretches his senses out and feels nothing.

Iruka thinks he is really losing his mind.

Lack of sleep and fatigue is blamed as Iruka moves to the bathroom to turn on the sink, walking all over glass, plastic and pieces of ripped photographs. There is no care in his walk, no remorse or any other feeling because why should I have it? What would it get me in the end? Would it bring Kakashi back? No. So why should I care?

The faucet gurgles for a moment and coughs up rust colored water for a moment but eventually runs clear. Iruka reaches out to rinse his hands and notices the soap on the side, sealed and unopened. It is the one Iruka favors and always used to keep in his own apartment. It is as if Kakashi had really prepped the house to the point that all iruka had to do is walk in, and live in it. It is as if Kakashi had waited all those days and nights for him to come back, to come see that their house is ready.

Kakashi had waited for him.

The medicine cabinet behind the mirror is even stocked with aspirin and clean gauze, basic first aid including the aftershaves they both use. Everything is brand new, untouched, sealed and dusty. Iruka feels his stomach lurch and without his control, he empties acid right into the sink, dry heaves making his knees weak and his eyes water. The sound of his gags is loud in the empty house, echoing all the way down to the kitchen and spreading into the living room like poison.

Iruka lets out an frustrated curse and ends up gagging again. His fist is slamming on one side of the sink and he has to catch his breath before he straightens to slam the medicine cabinet and right there, in the reflection is the ANBU, dark eyes staring at Iruka and standing right behind him, almost a breath away.

Iruka whirls around and finds no one there, a gasp in his throat that doesn’t quite come out and knuckles white from the grip on the sink.

That is when the rage kicks in again.

“Where are you!” Iruka yells, voice shaking and pause racing. The force of the yell is so strong that the veins on on his neck is prominent. “Show yourself! What the hell are you doing here! This is not your house!”

The bedroom is empty, so is the hallway and the spare bedroom. The sound of door slamming and bouncing off the walls in their hinges echo too, just like Iruka’s rage.

“What do you want from me! What else do you want from me! Huh?!” Iruka walks back and forth, up and down the hallway, in and out the living room, looking for a shadow that continues to evade him and just when he thinks he sees it or sees it walk past him from the corner of his vision, it is gone. “Sit your goddamn ass down and tell me what the fuck you want! What do you want!”

Iruka stands in the kitchen and brings both his fist down hard on the table that the wood cracks, just as the scream tears itself right out of his throat. Iruka’s vision is blurry when he stares at his fists, at how they are shaking against the wood, like he has a disease that makes him him lose control of the nerves in limbs.

Iruka sits down heavily, dips his head down and sucks in several breaths in an attempt to calm himself as his fingers spread wide against hte dusty and now broken surface of the wooden table. The shakes the doesn’t stop, not for a while and Iruka finds himself closing his eyes only to open and look up to find the kitchen bathed in orange light.

It is sunset already.

And right across from him, the ANBU is sitting on the chair, arms hanging limping on its sides.

“What do you want from me?” Iruka asks it, calm and composed. “Did they send you to keep an eye on me? In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been doing my job. I haven’t been screwing up. I’m not bringing in any personal matters into any of this bullshit because goddamnit, I am good soldier!”

The mask of the wolf, or dog or hound or whatever, simply stares right back at Iruka, unmoving.

“So why the fuck are you following me around?” Iruka grits out, teeth grinding so hard that his jaw and neck hurts. “What part of my behaviour warrants me a goddamn ANBU escort! Do you come into my house too? Do you fucking watch me sleep? What is your goddamn purpose!”

The ANBU doesn’t move. Iruka cannot even see it breathe.

“Goddamnit, answe me!”

Iruka reaches out to claw the mask of the ANBU’s face but his fingers meets nothing but air and suddenly the seat is empty and is back into its original position, as if no one had been sitting on the chair just a few seconds ago.

Iruka grabs the table form one and upturns it to one side.

His chakra spikes, sharp and cold and loud, channelling all the way to his legs and without another look back, Iruka is bolting out of the house, blindly running without a destination. He doesn’t care where he ends up, if he is going in circles, if anyone sees him or stops or kills him. Maybe if someone kills him, because they think he is a threat, it would be a mercy. Maybe then, just maybe, Iruka can actually stop trying to stop his mind from remembering memories he had shared with Kakashi. Maybe then, if he stops thinking altogether, the black hole where his heart and soul had once sat in can finally close.

Maybe then, everything would just stop.

Iruka doesn’t see it but he collides face first into something solid and warm and that knocks him off his balance, and he collides sideways against a tree, temple connecting solidly with the tree bark and before he hits the ground, Iruka feels his world black out.

 

\--

 

It is the hand on his shoulder and the sharp smell of something foul that makes him inhale deeply, something that reminds Iruka of rot that has him jerking and turning his head away to find himself waking up. Iruka almost gags at the smell, tasting it in his throat and when he looks up, he finds himself looking at Tenzou, who is tucking away a vial of dissolved smelling salts into his utility pouch.

Iruka can feel something warm and wet trickling down the side of his face and when he brings a hand up to touch his head, it comes away stained in crimson.

“Iruka-sensei, are you okay?” Tenzou asks.

That is when Iruka notices the ANBU uniform and as if he had suddenly touched something extremely hot, Iruka is immediately pushing away from Tenzou.

“Are you and your friends fucking following me?” Iruka asks, the rage coming back full force.

Tenzou look like he’s taken aback and for a moment and his hand move to grip the hilt of the sword on his side. Iruka is radiating chakra in a way that he should never be towards an ally and subordinate.

“No, Iruka-sensei. This is -- “

“Don’t lie to me!”

The sword clicks from the sheath. “I am not lying to you, Iruka-sensei.”

“Then who the fuck -- who the flying fuck, is that asshole who keeps following me everywhere? The one that looks like a dog! And why is it following me! Did she ask you and your friends to keep an eye on me or something?!”

Tenzou looks confused. “Sensei, what dog -- there is no active operative with a dog mask.”

“Dog! Wolf! Or something like that! Who the fuck is it?!”

Iruka cannot understand why Tenzou is looking confused or why is he even acting in the first place. Iruka thinks that he at least, deserves some truth.

“Sensei, there is no one -- “

“Don’t lie to me!”

“-- there is no one alive with that mask! Kakashi is Hound. Didn’t he tell you?”

The words stutter at the tip of Iruka’s tongue and he finds himself just staring at Tenzou, shaking his head once, then twice and then one more time before he brings a hand up to his mouth. Iruka doesn’t know how ANBU works up until one time, he had asked Kakashi. And Kakashi, with all the trust he had for Iruka, had told him his codename and what kind of animal mask he had worn at the time. He had also told Iruka that ANBU codenames are not passed down because if someone dies in the field, in a way, it is their identity.

Iruka remembers the memory, vivid and clear. Kakashi had been sipping shochu that rainy winter night.

Iruka takes a step back and another and suddenly remembers the mail he had gotten a week ago, the one that had the keys to the house and the apartment. He doesn’t listen to what Tenzou is saying, doesn’t even turn to see if he is following or not because Iruka is suddenly in his apartment and his hands are shaking again, shaking so hard that everything he holds is trembling. He tears through the mail, throwing things left and right and looking everywhere, pacing and pacing, pushing his hands into his hair and fuck, fuck, where did I put it, where the hell did I put it?

“Sensei, calm down --”

Iruka brushes past Tenzou when his eyes land on the box he had packed a recently, the last of Kakashi’s belongings that had been sent to him by the morgue. It is the few things Kakashi had on him when he had returned to the village that night after his disastrous mission. Iruka had gotten it some time ago and had never gotten around to burning everything in the box.

The lid is flung aside and Iruka upturns the box, scattering weapons, Kakashi uniform, his holster and gloves and forehead protector until he hears the rustle of keys and he sees it, buried under the fabric of Kakashi’s trouser.

Iruka doesn’t even think as he crossing a few blocks and finds himself standing in front of Kakashi’s apartment door, unsure of what key is which and his hands just won’t stop shaking and his vision is blurry and gods, Iruka can’t even seem to breathe right, open, open, open, fucking open, open open --

“Sensei, please calm down -- “

The lock turns and Iruka pushes the door open and proceeds to tear the place apart. Where is it? Where is it? Where is it? Where is it?

So where is your armor now? Do you still keep it, Iruka had asked. And Kakashi, had simply hummed and buried his nose into Iruka’s neck, one day, I’ll show it to you, Kakashi had said and then kissed Iruka until he had been breathless.

They had made love all night that night, on the old bed they had both shared in Iruka’s apartment and then Kakashi had teased him, with Iruka writhing underneath him and begging him not to stop, but if you really want to see it, you’ll find it underneath the underneath.

Iruka’s head turns sharply towards the shelf by Kakashi’s bed, where there is a photo frame of Team Seven and Kakashi’s old team with Minato. The frames drop and crash to the ground when Iruka sweeps an arm across the shelf, so he can run his fingers across the wood and feel underneath it. He finds it, the little compartment and pushes and lifts until there is a click and he pulls the drawer open.

The wooden box is pulled out, heavy and old and scratched from years of use. Iruka moves like a man with a mission, undoing the bolts that holds the lid in place and there, right on top of leather and silver armor is the white mask.

Hound’s mask.

Iruka give Tenzou’s face a glare, watches some sort of stricken expression cross the usually calm man’s face before Iruka storms out of the apartment.

 

\--

 

The mask chips around the edges, very small pieces of white falling on the paper laden desk of the Godaime. Iruka’s hand are still shaking even after he releases his hold on the mask.

“Why are your men, going through my stuff?” Iruka asks, calm, quiet, collected and enraged.

“Men?” Tsunade asks, eyebrows pinching together. She looks calm and betrays no expression even though Iruka had stormed into her office, dusty, dirty, tousled and bleeding and still in his formal clothes from Naruto’s wedding ceremony.

“The men you ordered to follow me around -- don’t. Please don’t shake your head at me and treat me like I’m a goddamn idiot, haven’t you done enough?”

Tsunade is not swayed or phased by the rise in Iruka’s voice. “Iruka, when was the last time you slept?”

“That is none of your fucking business.”

“It is my business, when concerns about you is being brought forward --”

“Concerns?” Iruka laughs. “From who? The council?”

“The Academy, you little brat --”

“Why?” Iruka asks, not giving Tsunade a chance to answer, shrugging and looking like he had no idea what Tsunade is talking about and there is truth to it because as far as Iruka is concerned, he’s been doing his job. A little too perfectly. “I’ve been doing my job right. What’s the problem?”

“It has been suggested that you be given a leave of absence -- “

Iruka can’t help it, the laugh is rolling past his throat and right at Tsunade’s face. “You’re suspending me because I am doing my job right? Is that a fucking order?” The laugh tapers off and cracks and Iruka brings a hand up to his mouth to stop the sob that comes out and suddenly, he can’t see very clearly and the heat in his eyes feel like they’re burning through the the flesh of his dusty and bloody cheeks. He had refused to let him cry since the hospital, always stopping himself even at times like these when the grief just wants to consume him completely. “You’re going to take away my job too?”

Tsunade has her hands on his shoulders and she is shaking her head, because it had come out wrong, Iruka knows that. Tsunade too had a temper and it’s not her fault that Iruka had marched into her office and had spoken to her with absolutely no care to her station, or reputation, all protocol tossed to the wind without a care. It isn’t Tsunade’s fault that her words, too, had come out wrong. It isn’t her fault that sometimes, she too, doesn’t full power to outvote the council.

“Iruka, listen to me, you need -- you must talk to someone.”

“But who?” Iruka asks, voice shaking, hands shaking. He’s shaking everywhere as he looks into the eyes of his leader, the tears flowing down his cheeks and he’s barely holding himself together. “Who do I talk to, Godaime-sama? Naruto?” Iruka smiles and chokes, and tries to smile again but for some reason that he cannot comprehend, his face just would not cooperate. “I lied to him. I can’t tell him it was an order. I can’t do that to him. Does he even know?”

Tsunade’s silence is all the answer Iruka needs.

And he finds himself just looking at her, looking for an answer, for some sort of sign or some insight to wisdom -- for anything that can help make the feeling in his chest, that hideously large and still growing large hole that seems to just swallow everything up and leave nothing in its wake. Iruka’s shaking hand comes to his chest, as if the gesture would cover the hole that is there.

“Tell me, Godaime-sama, tell me what to do.” Iruka says and and waits for an answer that doesn’t come.

And then Iruka remembers that he is good soldier, he reminds himself that he is a good soldier and points out to himself that everything he has done just now is unacceptable. That he should keep his down and accept the suspension or leave of absence or whatever fancy name they want to give it now.

“I’m sorry Godaime-sama. I don’t know what has come over me but you are right. Perhaps a leave of absence is something that I really need. i will follow your orders, and if you think this is what is best -- “

“Iruka -- “

“-- best for me then I accept it. I - I - I need -- I must -- the consequences of my actions -- “ Iruka grits his teeth and brings the palms of his hands to press against his eye sockets.

“Tenzou will take you home. He will be there, if you need anything from him.”

Iruka forces himself to stand straight, to look at a point behind Tsunade’s head. He doesn’t trust his voice very much but he manages to squeeze out a choked and shaky, you know where to find me, before he feels Tenzou’s hand on his shoulder and the ground disappear underneath him from the displacement of Tenzou’s shunshin.

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday, Bakashi. It's the 15th where I live now.


	3. Bargaining

When Iruka closes his eyes to sleep, he dreams.

The dream is one of the many conversations he and Kakashi has had in the past, because while Kakashi may not have been the most engaging or social conversationalist in Konoha, if the mood is right and the timing good, talking with Kakashi is a delight.

They had just finished dinner that night and are both sitting at their dining table with their bellies full. Iruka had started a game and had insisted Kakashi play along with him on who can outdo the other with the worst joke they can come up with on the spot. Iruka remembers some of the horrible ones that had left Kakashi’s mouth and when Iruka had asked where Kakashi had gotten it from, Kakashi tells him that they are all Naruto’s jokes from those times when Naruto had tried to cheer up Sakura everytime Sasuke had shot her down.

Iruka laughs as Kakashi watches him, the fondness melting to something a little more bittersweet, a touch less brighter than the expression Kakashi had worn just seconds ago.

Iruka knows that look.

“They’re sending you away again, aren’t they?” Iruka asks, laughter gradually dissolving to a slight frown.

“It may take a while.”

“A month maybe?”

Kakashi does not answer and instead his eyes drop to one of the empty bowls on the table. Iruka knows if he continues to be upset about it, Kakashi may just try to weasel himself out of it. With Konoha at such a crucial state and trying to get back on her feet, she needs every best and able man she can have. And Kakashi, well, Kakashi is one of the best.

Before Kakashi can even apologize, Iruka smiles brightly and is standing up to walk around the table so he can wrap his arms around Kakashi from behind him, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“All the more reason to celebrate once you get home. Just don’t stray or get lost along the way, okay?” And because Kakashi is almost always gone, Iruka’s hold is just a touch tighter, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

Iruka doesn’t let Kakashi see his face, but Kakashi turns to look at him anyway, his gaze firm, reassuring, a devoted promise reflecting over warm dark gray eyes.

“Nothing will keep me away from you for too long.”

\--

Iruka finds out, when he wakes up, that he is not alone. The door to his bedroom is open and from where he is lying on the bed, he can see Tenzou sitting on the couch reading one of the books that must have been lying around. Iruka knows that he’s been tasked a babysitting job  to keep Iruka in line, to stop him from doing anything reckless, or worse, anything stupid.

But Iruka knows he will never succumb to any sort of irrational thinking, no matter what the pain feels like in his chest, no matter how much he feels like he’s nothing more than an empty shell. Iruka is programmed to serve, to be of use to his village. Duty before anything else, except somehow, now, apparently, his duty had been to Kakashi. He had lived for Kakashi, had done his best to show Kakashi that it’s okay to trust, that it’s okay to be vulnerable, to want things bad enough that you’d want to fight for it, that love, their love, is something worth keeping.

Iruka thinks he is a hypocrite.

He also thinks that perhaps it is exactly this shift in loyalty that might have worried the council, long to enough to take the weaker of the two of them and use that weakness to their advantage. Maybe they had seen through Iruka’s personality, has figured him out in ways that Iruka doesn’t even know. Because now that Kakashi is gone, Iruka realizes where his loyalties lie and maybe at that point, he had seen it too, and he thinks, _that is why I agreed to go. Do you understand? If you were the next one in line for the Hokage’s title, it was a game of politics. I am already outmatched in power and strength, it won’t do if my loyalty to the village is questioned, right? Maybe that’s why they wanted to send me away, to see if I was loyal, right?_

_I should have never left in the first place._

_I should have not put all that distance._

_I should have never listened._

_I should have broken every rule available. If not caring for your friends makes you worse than trash, then what does not caring for your lover make me?_

(Can you ever forgive me?)

\--

The clock reads eight in the evening when Iruka realizes that he has done a great injustice to everything Kakashi had spent time and effort trying to perfect. For the first time in months, Iruka’s mind is clear and with a purpose. He washes up, changes, and then leaves the house.

His guardian follows him and remains silent; Iruka tells himself, maybe one day, if he survives this grief, he will thank Tenzou.

Iruka starts with picking up all the torn pieces of photographs off the floor, gathering them into a small box and setting it aside. The broken glass, plastic and wood is also picked up and kept aside to be disposed off later. He picks up the fallen pieces that had been left to scatter in the wake of his rage, fingers careful and gentle lest he damages more than he already has.

Iruka cleans for days.

He cleans obsessively because time is all he has. With his leave of absence made official, Iruka has nothing else to occupy his mind. He scrubs at the tiles until they are white. He polishes the wood until it looks brand new. He airs out the house and all the cushions and mattresses. The sheets and covers are washed and put back. And when Iruka looks at the house one day, days later, he thinks if he pretends hard enough, it almost looks like someone lives in it.

“Iruka-sensei,” Tenzou say eventually, his first spoken word since Iruka had started to clean the house he knows he will never stay in, because it hurts too much. “You should try to get some rest.”

Because Iruka doesn’t sleep. If he sleeps, he will dream of Kakashi and he doesn’t want to dream about him anymore, because waking up means facing the fact that Kakashi is just no longer there.

“I still have a lot of things to do.” Iruka says and is glad when Tenzou says nothing as he locks up the house, seals it shut and turns around without a second look back.

(If I fix everything, will you forgive me?)

\--

Kakashi’s apartment does not take as long to clean and fix up. Iruka doesn’t spend as much time scrubbing and polishing the small apartment to the point that its flat surfaces gleamed like mirrors. The box of torn photographs is put to one side to be fixed later. The books by the nightstand go back to the shelf, along with Kakashi’s ANBU armor. Everything else is straightened and tucked away, the same way Iruka always would whenever he had spent the night in Kakashi’s apartment.

He finds Kakashi’s clothes that still smell of him neatly stacked in his closet. He also finds a small pile of dirty laundry that Kakashi must have forgotten to clean up because he had been running himself ragged apparently, he had been going in and out of Konoha, being reckless, without taking any breaks to recuperate.

Iruka washes those and when they dry, he carefully puts them back into Kakashi’s closet.

It is the smell of Kakashi’s laundry soap, and the underlying scent of fields and musk that makes Iruka’s fingers pause against one of the uniform shirts, then pull it out of the closet. He pulls out a pair of pants too, and steps into Kakashi’s shower. He lathers himself with Kakashi’s soap, with Kakashi’s shampoo and Iruka thinks that like this, he can almost smell him, like those times when Kakashi steps out of the shower.

Iruka slips on Kakashi’s pants and shirt and sits in the middle of Kakashi’s bed, wrapping his arms around himself and inhaling deeply. Like this, Iruka thinks Kakashi is still there, holding him, and then, whispering in his ears in that lilting tone of his voice.

But Kakashi is not there.

The shower is cold and the only thing that hugs Iruka is the very loose hanging fit of Kakashi’s uniform. Time stops again and Iruka for a while, just a short while, closes his eyes and pretends that Kakashi is just on a mission somewhere far away, that in a few days time, he will come back because Kakashi had told him that there is nothing that can keep him away from Iruka for too long.

(If I continue to wait for you, will you come back?)

When Iruka opens his eyes and looks at the wall mirror, he sees Hound standing behind him, towards the corner of room.

Iruka looks up at the ANBU figure and doesn’t feel anger this time, just desperation, and maybe just a part resignation.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.” Iruka says softly and then pulls the box that contained the torn photographs towards him. The lid comes off and Iruka takes out the roll of clear tape and the pair of scissors he had pushed into the box earlier. He also takes out a small, black leather-bound book -- Kakashi’s journal -- something he had found while cleaning and sets it aside. “I didn’t mean to get very angry.”

Iruka spreads out the torn pieces and starts to sort them out like a puzzle. He finishes

assembling one photograph and starts to cut out pieces of the tape to hold the torn photograph together and he wishes hard, right then and there, that he can do the same for his heart.

“Can I ask you something?” Iruka asks, carefully folding a piece of tape. Hound remains unmoving, still and almost like a statue. “If I fix everything, do you think he’ll ever forgive me?”

Iruka picks up the photo he has managed to assemble. The photo looks cracked and broken, crumpled and uneven, but it is whole. Iruka thinks that the photo reminds him of himself, how he still remains intact but is barely held together by obligation and duty. All Iruka has now is memories, memories that sometimes aren’t as clear anymore, much like the photo in his hand. His smile in the photo looks distorted from the rips and tape; Kakashi looks like he’s not smiling at all because Iruka had cut clean through, right down his face in his fit of anger.

Iruka thinks this is how Kakashi must have felt like, ripped right in half, on that night Iruka had turned his back on him.

“I’m scared I’ll forget him.”

Iruka looks up from the photo and Hound is suddenly standing in front him, by the foot of the bed, hands by his side. Iruka does not realize how he’s crying, doesn’t even feel the hot tears running down his cheeks.

“Do you think he hates me?”

Hound tilts his head to one side and Iruka feels a breathless noise leave him, something that is part fear and part laugh, part hurt and part denial. Iruka knows the answer. If Kakashi had somehow made it through, he would never trust Iruka again even if he did manage to forgive Iruka at all.

(But if I fix everything, will you still come back to me?)

\--

“Did you know him well?” Iruka asks, sitting on the rug and working on another photograph. He has not changed out of Kakashi’s uniform.

Tenzou is sitting quietly across from Iruka, cross legged on the rug but does not do anything to touch or disturb Iruka’s work. Tenzou has been like that for the most part, simply observing, answering if he is talked to. That is his role after all. Sometimes he helps Iruka by taking the trash out. They have spent almost a week in Kakashi’s apartment and have not set foot into the house. Iruka cannot make himself go back, cannot make himself even look at it anymore.

It hurts too much.

“A long while, yes.” Tenzou answers.

“How did you meet?” Iruka still does not look up as he cuts a piece of tape and sticks it between two torn pieces of photo paper.

“A mission. Mostly it had involved a conflict of interest.”

“I see.” Iruka is quiet for a long time, with nothing by the sound of clear tape being snipped and pulled filling the space between himself and Tenzou. “Was it you? Who he was with that night? His last mission?”

“We crossed paths.” Tenzou said, and his voice is quieter, softer. It makes Iruka look up at the man where he sees the slight pinch between his brows. “It was my team that found him. He was well within Konoha’s borders by then.” Tenzou pauses, and then adds, “He was in pretty bad shape.”

“No one noticed him behaving this way?” Iruka realizes the stupidity of the question the moment it rolls out of his mouth. If Kakashi wanted to hide something, Kakashi would hide it. If he did not want anyone finding out things about him, no one would find out.

“I suspected something was up but Senpai was very private…”

The question hangs in the air: what really happened?

Iruka doesn’t speak for a while, not until the photograph before him is finally fixed and almost whole again. It is the picture Kakashi had loved of him, the one that Iruka remembers picking up from Kakashi’s side of the bed. His smile in the photo looks broken now, distorted, just like the smile he gives Tenzou.

“I killed him.” Iruka says and looks up at Tenzou then, who is looking at him with an unreadable expression. Iruka tilts his head to one side, waiting. “Don’t you want to ask me how?”

Tenzou doesn’t answer.

“Aren’t you angry at me for killing your friend? You were close, weren’t you?”

Tenzou’s eyebrows narrow then, something sharpening in his gaze. “Iruka-sensei...”

“Can you forgive me?" Iruka asks and then looks at the photo in his hands once more the smile twitching on his face.

“You did not kill him.”

Iruka looks up at Tenzou once more and wonders why Tenzou is even trying to deny this, why won’t he just admit that Iruka’s love has done a great disservice to Konoha? That the loss of the village is no one’s fault but his.

“I did.” Iruka stands up carefully then, feeling his joints ache from being in one position for too long, carefully tugging the sleeves of Kakashi’s shirt further up his elbow. A useless attempt as the loose fabric only rolls back down to his wrist. “I should have been dead, not him. Now you and our village is short one man that should have been on his way to the Hokage’s seat. You should be angry, Tenzou-san. You all should be. You shouldn’t waste your sympathy and consoling words on me. I killed your future Hokage. You should be angry --”

Iruka brings his hands up to cover his eyes.

“I wish never fell in love with him. Maybe he’d still be alive by now. Maybe if it wasn’t for me, Konoha wouldn’t have lost a potential Hokage.”

\--

There are days that Iruka finds himself lying in bed and staring at the leaves of Mr. Ukki sway gently each time cool air from the air conditioner reaches it. Iruka vaguely remembers wondering at some point if he will ever recover from this. He wonders what life would be with Kakashi, about little details like setting the table for two, or dressing a wound with gauze while giving Kakashi the sermon of a lifetime for being reckless, or if he will ever look at the things Kakashi had loved or shown affection to the same way again. Iruka wonders what miso soup with eggplant would taste like if he makes it without Kakashi around. He wonders if he’d even enjoy it the way he had when Kakashi had asked for seconds, or at the time, when Kakashi buys the groceries, he would sneak in a firm eggplant or two, a quiet hint that he is craving his favorite soup.

But most of all, Iruka wonders if he had anything left in him to give to anyone.

He wonders if he can ever love again.

It is the latter thought that makes Iruka turn to face the shadow that sometimes lurk around him, sometimes not. He had never paid much attention to the pattern of Hound’s appearance up until he had asked himself one night the very question that keeps him up and re-living through his memories with Kakashi, of days where they had been happy.

(Are you staying around because I’ve fixed things?)

Hound’s shadow casts over Mr Ukki’s leaves and Iruka watches him as he tilts his head to the side to stare at the plant, the way Iruka stares the plant. From this angle, Iruka can tell who the person is behind the mask. He can tell from the slicked back silver hair, the way it spikes in the back, and the scars that peeks out of the standard issue ANBU tank top and armor. He’s had years under his belt and countless nights where Iruka had simply traced those scars with his fingers. He knows every one of them, knows which ones are raised and which ones are sunken, which ones are smooth and which ones are jagged.

Hound’s shadow becomes a comfort. Iruka doesn’t know when or how it had started to become so, except that it has become so.

Iruka also knows the shadow is not real.

That it is just a figment of his mourning mind.

This mere shadow is all Iruka has and Hound is probably is as close as he can get to a man that has been cremated and ashes spread over open fields.

And for a moment, when Iruka closes his eyes, he imagines that Hound is real. That Kakashi is real. And that it had all been a bad dream. And that Kakashi wearing the armour and white mask is just a way for him to hide his broken heart from Iruka, to show him how he wants distance, how he’s here but not, how he doesn’t trust Iruka enough to even show his face.

Iruka feels time displace around him like he does day after day, longer and longer, the hours shifting from when the sun had long since disappeared from the sky to when it burns the brightest at its highest crest. Iruka doesn’t remember sleeping, if has slept at all, much like how he doesn’t remember much from most of his days. He vaguely remembers eating because there is a sourness in his mouth that can only come from consuming instant ramen. The burn in his stomach from when he goes on for days without eating has ceased to bother him, and the headaches are sluggishness cannot compare to the gaping and painful emptiness that sits in the middle of his chest.

He opens his eyes to find Hound still staring at Mr. Ukki.

Iruka doesn’t remember what day it is.

“I need to water him.” Iruka says, his voice sounding like sandpaper from lack of use.

There is a soft rush of water and Iruka gently pours a glass into the pot, standing right there, almost shoulder to shoulder beside a shadow that emits no warmth or cold.

“Do you remember it ever sprouting blossoms? I am not very good with plants.” Iruka murmurs, setting the glass by the window sill and gently rubbing a leaf between his thumb and forefinger. It stops to matter if Hound responds or not, if he even shifts. Iruka adjust the plant pot a bit, so that it can get more sunlight from the window and ends up looking up at Hound, who is still looking at the pot.

“Would you have ever thought of coming to me? Back then. Even if I didn’t want to see, would you have come to me anyway? Ah, but I think you wouldn’t have. I did tell you to stay away. That’s a stupid question. I’m sorry.”

This close, it is almost tempting to just reach and feel the coarse strands of hair between his fingertips, where the ends are a little dry and a little less smooth than the rest. It would be so easy, to press his palm against the curve of the pale and scarred shoulder, to pretend to feel warmth that will never exist again and maybe, just maybe, draw strength to try to get through the rest of his day and eventually, whatever years that lay ahead.

(If you stay, I’ll get better. I’ll be better. I’ll do it right, this time.)

Iruka’s gaze momentarily shift and he finds himself staring at the bedside table, where he had placed Kakashi’s team photos on for the time being, pressed down against the table by the weight of his journal. Iruka remembers keeping them there until he can manage to buy new picture frames to replace the broken ones.

It almost feels like an out of body experienced, the way Iruka watches himself pick up the journal and sit at the edge of the bed, where he flips the first page open. The pain in his chest remains constant until he flips the first page open, when he reads how Kakashi pens down his thoughts and tells Iruka that his decision is bullshit, that his mission is bullshit, that his reasons is an even bigger bullshit. Kakashi speaks to a journal as if the journal is Iruka himself, tells him that _you do not make me weak, you make me stronger than I can ever be._

Kakashi tells Iruka how he’s continuing to work on the house. He describes each step of it, from the moment the masonry work starts all the way to the last roof tile placement. He tells him how he’s gone to buy the things Iruka likes, that _everything is ready, that all you have to do is come home._

And Iruka watches himself as it gets harder to breathe, just as the optimism start to run out with each page, as much as the clarity of each letter that starts to smudge in some areas and start to get illegible in others. Iruka watches himself start to shake, the tears smudging words that are laced with so much bitterness and so much hurt that it feels like claws are tearing to the already present hole in Iruka’s chest further apart, further open and wider, the emptiness spreading until Iruka can barely feel anything because Kakashi tells him, you said you’d never leave me.

The last entry stops in the middle and it is only one line.

Iruka watches himself read it, watches as his hands shake and his shoulder hunch. Iruka watches himself open his mouth and bring the open journal up to his forehead, fingers digging through hard cover and crumpling pages as the raw and pained scream leaves him until Iruka realizes he’s no longer watching himself but can barely see ahead of him when he flings the journal across the space between the bed and the mirror and watches his reflection shatter all across the floor into several pieces.

The apartment shakes with the force of Iruka’s grief, with the violent spike of his chakra as he completely come apart and cries and cries, and falls to his knees to crawl across the sea of broken glass, to feel for journal on the floor because he can’t see what’s in front of him, can barely even feel the glass cut and bury themselves deep into palms and fingers, doesn’t even realize how his weight presses against a large piece that slides across the wooden floor, makes him slip and fall to his side. Still, Iruka crawls for the journal, manages to find it in the broken mess of his loss and holds what is left of Kakashi’s trust and love for him to his chest, of what he had left behind knowing and believing Iruka would probably never see it. It had probably been a comfort to Kakashi, to talk to paper because there is no one else to talk to, to hide behind his pen and security of a leather bound journal because Iruka had left him, when Iruka had spent years making Kakashi believe that what they had is unbreakable.

_I should have never believed you._

Kakashi’s name rips past Iruka’s throat over and over and over again, a desperate plea that he knows will never be answered.

And when Iruka looks around to find Hound, to find Kakashi, the shadow is gone.

(You said nothing would keep you away from me for too long! Why didn’t you come to me?!)

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiring chapter is tiring.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm scaring myself stupid while writing this.
> 
> I know this fic will be five chapters long. Chapter lengths may vary.


End file.
